The Present
by QueenOfVenus
Summary: After the Christmas Party, Molly gets a visit from an old friend, but will Sherlock's Pride stop him from helping her, or will his ego be her end. Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. That masterpiece is all motffis.
1. Taken and Lost

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This fic takes place after 'A Scandal in Belgravia' after the Christmas party. Sorry to Irene fans but you won't be seeing much of her in this fic, so I'll apologise now for the absence of Adler.**

 **Review and tell me what you think! Thank you for giving this fic a chance.**

 **...**

Molly couldn't feel the cold weather around her. She couldn't smell the sweet aromas of food from the pubs as she past, nor could she smell the fumes from the cars as they sped away down the busy streets of London. She couldn't hear the cars on the roads, her feet hitting the pavement or the happy friends and families laughing together in holiday celebrations. She was numb. Numbed by Sherlock's cruel words, and cutting deductions. His words had left her cold.

Stumbling along the pavement, trying and failing to gain the attention of a cab, she tattled on, her heels clacking in the almost deserted streets. So caught up in her attempts to hail a cab, Molly failed to notice the black car slowly pulling up beside her. The vehicle slowed completely coming to a stop quite near her. The headlights went of as the car doors began to open. The sudden change in light caused Molly to stop. Something was wrong.

Before she could turn around an arm curled around her waist, holding her in a steely grip, lifting her of the ground. Molly screamed and kicked, clawing at her attacker with her hands. Just as she drew in a breath to scream again another gloved hand slammed down over her mouth, muffling her yell for help.

The two men dragged the thrashing Molly and all but threw her into the car, slamming the door behind her. As she raised her hands to bang on the glass window she stilled. There was someone else in the back seat with her.

"What a lovely dress, Molly Mouse!" Came a smooth Irish voice. "Did you wear it for me?"

...

John was already furious at Sherlock for the way he had berated Molly, but then he then had the nerve, the _nerve,_ to scurry of to his bedroom and sulk like a child, as if he had been the one who had been insulted.

Poor Molly had left an hour ago. John had asked her to call him when she got home, to tell him that she was safe, but over an hour later and still no sign from her. _Weird, she should be home by now_. John decided to put it down to having forgotten to call and texted her instead.

 **Hi Molls. Just texting to make sure your alright. Call me when you get home. Or if you are home, call me when you read this. Or just text me. Merry Christmas.**

 **John**

Now all he could do was wait. Jennet had left a little while after Molly, and Greg had followed a half hour after that. Now it was down to him, Mrs Hudson and Sherlock to clean up the aftermath of the party. Or more accurately, down to him and Mrs Hudson seeing as Sherlock should no signs of leaving his sulking for a good long while.

After the clean up was over John checked his phone again. No massages, Missed calls or any sign of life from Molly.

"Sherlock!" John called to the bedroom. "I think something might have happened to Molly."

"Oh, she's fine!" Sherlock called back "She'll get over it. She always does."

...

"What a lovely dress, Molly Mouse." Came a smooth Irish voice. "Did you wear it for me?"

Molly slowly turned her head, breathing heavy. No one's voice could turn her to stone like his. She didn't even need to turn to now who it was. There sitting next to her in the back of the car was none other than James Moriarty. A sickeningly sweet smile curled along his lips, contorting his face, but never reaching his eyes.

"You do look stunning as always. Sherly can really be so blind can't he." Jim said, his hand snaking out from his lap to the top of her shoulder. Cold fingers brushed her skin as he pulled down the fluffy coat that protected her from his villainous eyes, peering at her as if she were a present, waiting to be unwrapped, played with, and then broken.

"Please don't..." her voice came out in an uneven whisper, but she didn't move, she couldn't move, not with those soulless pools glaring into her.

"Oh you don't need to be scared Molly Mouse. You know Daddy would never hurt you." He cooed, his hand sliding around the skin at the base of her neck. Suddenly his hand shoot out and snaked around her neck, pressing her to the back of her seat. "But he will if he has to. You know that. Don't you, Molly Mouse?"

 **...**

 **Well then Molly's in trouble, but will Sherlock be able to pull his head out of his ass long enough to save her?**

 **Thanks and review.**


	2. His First Mistake

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **We left of with Sherlock having a sulk, John being both annoyed and worried and Molly in a car with Moriarty. Lets see what happens next.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Sherlock belongs to Motffis**

 **...**

Tears started to well up in Molly's eyes. Jim's smile grew crueler as she began to claw at his hand. He pulled back and straightened his suit jacket, while Molly wheezed in a heap next to him. He lifted his hand and Molly flinched. He looked at her and chuckled, then proceeded to bang the roof of the car three times with his fist. The car started to move.

"You will be a good girl for Daddy, won't you Molly Mouse? It would be such a shame to give you back to Sherlock already broken, don't you think?"

Molly tried vainly to get as far away from Jim as the small back seats would allow her to be. Jim watched her with a sparkle in his eye. Molly wasn't sure what that sparkle was, but she knew that it meant bad news for her.

"Sherlock realy needs to learn how to take care of his toys." Jim said lifting Molly's chin with his hand. "With such fragile porcelain as this you'd think he would be more careful so it wouldn't crack. And look at you. He's broken you so many times that your hardly all there anymore. But I guess that just makes things more fun. Now I get to glue you together and break you apart as much as I want." He said releasing her chin.

Molly's voice crack as she tried to speak, her words coming out in hoarse croaks. "Screw you!" She squeaked.

"Did you just make that noise?" He growled. Molly shrunk back into the chair, cowering away from him. "Oh! Am I scaring you?" She squeaked again. "Come one sweety, use your words."

"Yes..." she gasped as he leaned closer. "Please let me go..."

"Oh Molly, I can't. You see, you're coming home with me whether you like it or not."

Jim lunged for her and pinned her down on the seat, his hands pressing her wrists into the leather, gripping them painfully, undoubtedly leaving bruised rings around them. He peered down at her, his pupils blown wide. He leaned down and pressed his cheek to her's so that his lips brushed her ear,

"Don't talk anymore." He growled, his body trembling over hers. "Don't you dare say another word." He sniffed in a deep breath of air, pressing his nose into her hair. "I've waited a long time for this. I've let Sherlock break you as much as he wanted. Now its my turn."

...

 **Molly? Can you please reply, I'm starting to get worried. Sherlock says you're probably fine, but I just want to know for sure. Please call.**

 **John**

 **Molly, this is ridiculous! I don't even need to be this worried. You're probably at home right now in bed but I just need to know.**

 **John**

 **One text. I just need one text! Thats all Molly! Just to know you're okay.**

 **John**

"Okay thats it!" John said shoving his phone into his pocket. "Sherlock I'm going out to look for her."

John pulled on his coat and left 221B. He started to walk towards Molly's, holding his hand out every time a cab passed in a vain effort to hai, one down and get to Molly's flat quicker. Pulling out his phone again he decided to call her instead. He dialled her number and waited. He kept walking and kept failing at gaining the attention of a cab. _How can Sherlock do this so easily._ The phone stopped ringing, so he dialled again.

He called Molly's phone two more times and was about to give up on the fifth when he heard it. Ringing. He walked towards it. Suddenly the ringing stopped at the same time his phone received Molly's voice mail tone. Quickly, John dialled her number again. The ringing stated again, and he continued to follow it.

John stopped dead in his tracks when he saw it. The white phone with ginger cat sticker on the bottom left corner, lying on the floor underneath a street lamp. Next to the phone was a broken heel from a shoe. Molly's shoe.

Picking up the phone and the heel John ran back to Baker's Street as fast as his legs would take him. His hand fumbled with his own phone, calling Sherlock.

He picked up on the third ring.

" _Sherlock Holmes._ "

"Sherlock!...It's John...Something...has happened..to Molly!" John called breathlessly down the phone.

" _What are you talking about John? Molly is perfectly fine. I'm sure she's..."_

" SHERLOCK SHUT UP FOR JUST ONE SECOND...PLEASE!" John yelled. "I'm nearly... back, so be... ready to be proved wrong cause... I have some great evidence. "

...

John slammed the door shut behind him and yanked the phone and heel out of his pocket and shoved them infront of Sherlock. Sherlock's brow creased. He peered down at the object on the table and then at John, who was breathing heavily fear clear on his face.

"John, Molly had quite a few glasses of wine after I...well, after me. I wouldn't worry, she must have just tripped, dropped her phone and broke her heel. A troubled mind can be quite forgetful after a shock."

"Well how are you so sure?" John asked, rage bubbling with his fear, just below the surface.

"You've known me long enough to know not to doubt me. I'm sure she is completely safe, and probably asleep by now. Are you sure you want to bother her while she is sleeping?"

"But..."

"She's fine, John. I'm sure of it."

...

 **Oh, Sherlock. What an Idiot. What has Jim got planned for Molly. Will John punch Sherlock for his arrogancy. Find out next time.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	3. The Body of Adler

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **I do apologise for the lack of Sherlock, but to be completely honest he is sulking, so what do you expect from a 6 foot child.**

 **This chapter will manly be Jim and Molly.**

 **WARNING: There is slight abuse and violence from Jim.**

 **Disclaimer: still not mine**

 **...**

By the time the car stopped the sun was just starting to light up the sky over the horizon. Molly glanced out of the window and saw an old looking house. The flowerbeds were brown and dead in the winter moonlight, with equally dead vines climbing high up and over the protruding front porch. Molly was dragged out of the car and hauled up the front steps. One of the goons opened the door and Molly was shoved in.

The main hall of the house was beautiful. Marble floors, high ceiling, grand staircase and gorgeous paintings adorned the walls. If she was in any other circumstance Molly would have been delighted to spend the rest of the early morning watching the new day's sunlight slowly creep across the floors and up the decorated walls. But with Jim peering over her shoulder she couldn't help but shiver; Suddenly, the natural splendor of the grand hall was lost to a leering and cold fortress, sneering at her.

"Daniels. Take our guest to her room. She needs to get ready for work."

"What?" Molly asked, completely at a loss of understanding.

"Get you ready for work. You're going to be needed at the morgue." Jim replied merrily.

"You planning to kill someone, sir?" One of the goons, Daniels, asked, tightening his grip on Molly's arm.

"Not quite yet. And the latest one they're not going to find for a while." Jim chuckled. "But I need to prove something to my little mouse. So, go and get ready Mouse."

Daniels tugged Molly's arm and began to pull her up the stairs. Her throat and wrists still soar from earlier helped Molly to decide it was best to save her energy. As he tugged her up the stairs Molly began to ponder what Jim had in store for her. What did he want to prove? Why was she needed at the morgue?...Why was he letting her go?

Daniels came to a stop out side of a large dark oak door. Turning the handle and pushing Molly He started to talk to her in what Molly assumed to be in an apologetic tone. "I'm sorry about all this. Really! I am! It's just, Mr Moriarty has been planning this for quite a while, and he has my wife. Honestly Dr. Hooper, if it were up to me none of this would be happening, and I'm so sorry about what is going to happen to you, it's just sick." He said with distaste. He looked up into her eyes and turned, closing the door and locking it behind him, leaving Molly to dress, and to wonder what he was talking about.

After a moment Molly turned around to look at the room she was in. Like the rest of the house, the bedroom was grand and old. The dark wood, four poster bed matched the bedside tables, vanity and wardrobe. On the bed was a set of clothes. Black jeans, black socks and a tight looking, blood red long sleave shirt.

Molly sucked in a shaking breath and walked over to the bed, picking up the socks. She peeled them away from each other and put them on her already bare feet (her heels, half broken, having being left in the car). She took the pins out of her ruined hair and slipped out of her dress.

Finished changing, Molly sat on the bed and waited. Not long later, Jim strolled in an came to stand infront of her. Refusing to look up, Molly kept her gaze looked on the book shelf behind him. Jim chuckled before reaching down and gently taking Molly's chin between his fingers, lifting her face up to look into his.

"Look at me, Mouse." He demanded. Whe she still wouldn't meet his gaze his left hand rose and slapped her across the face. Stunned, Molly's eyes gutted up and locked onto Jim's. "I said Look!" He cooed down at her.

Tears started to well in her eyes and her lip started to tremble, her heart beating faster out of fear that he would kill her, or worse.

"Now, I want you to listen very carefully. Are you listening Mouse?" His voice was soft but the look in his eyes could kill a man. Molly quickly nodded her head. "Good. You are going to go to work, and go about your job as usual. When Sherlock comes in, as I know he will, you will act as if nothing has changed. If you are to give of any kind of verbal clue to him that I have you, I will kill everyone in that hospital faster than you can say 'Sherlock, you bloody idiot.' Do you understand?"

"Yes..." She whispered.

"Good girl. Your shoes are by the door." He let her chin slip out of his hand as he turned and walked towards the door. "Be ready to leave in an hour. _Oh!_ And before I forget." He reached up towards the wardrobe and pulled down a woollen jumper. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart." He chuckled, and threw the jumper at her.

The door closed and locked behind him, leaving Molly alone to cry into the soft Christmas jumper, finally able to hide her face from the cruel reality of what was really happening to her.

...

After receiving the call from Mycroft, Sherlock was into his coat and out of the house in seconds, catching a cab to Bart's and rushing down to the morgue where his brother was already waiting.

They walked in to together, Sherlock listening to Mycroft only vaguely. Looking up Sherlock sees Molly standing behind a body, her hair open around her shoulders and wearing a rather atrocious Christmas jumper. He wasn't quite sure what but something was off about her. _Must have been what I said at Baker's street._ He concluded to himself.

"The only one that fitted the description. Had her brought here - your home from home." Mycroft concurred, waiting for Sherlock to identify her so he could get on with better business.

"You didn't need to come in, Molly." Sherlock said, attempting to ease the tension.

"That's okay. Everyone else was busy with...Christmas." _The tension is still there, why? I said sorry._ Molly looked down and gestured to the body. "The face is a bit, sort of, bashed up, so it might be a bit difficult." She said, pulling the sheet down to revel her face.

"That's her, isn't it?" Mycroft asked, starting to get inpatient.

"Show me the rest of her" Sherlock demanded. Grimacing, Molly walked along the side of the table, pulling the sheet back further as she went. Sherlock looked down the body, comparing the measurements of Irene to that of the body. "That's her." He stated and turned away. Thoughts where already flying around his head, and he had to struggle to contain them all, sorting quickly through his Mind Palace, placing each thought and theory in the right category. His head was so busy, he barley heard the conversation going on behind him. Barley.

"Thank you, Miss Hooper."

"Who is she? How did Sherlock recognise her from...not her face?"

Sherlock pushed the door open, and a few moments later was followed by Mycroft. A cigarette and some talk of Irene later, Sherlock left Mycroft to his government issues and started to head home to Baker's Street. He tried to keep his mind focused on Irene and her death, but no matter how hard he tried to delete the thoughts, his mind kept ringing back to Dr Molly Hopper.

He didn't know why or how, but the little pathologist had taken center stage in his mind, as if all the doors and winding corridors in the Palace weren't enough to keep her from being the main focus. Sherlock's head reeled. _Something is wrong with Molly. I can smell it. But it can't just be what I said at the Christmas party. I know I 've said much worse things in the past, and she has always been merrily bringing me coffee mear hours after. So what could possibly be different this time..._

...

Sitting back in the car with Jim, Molly huddled in the corner and stared out of the window. _He hardly even noticed. And that women._ She shivered. _I bet he didn't even realise anything was wrong at all._

"Molly Mouse, sweetheart, tell Daddy all about work. How where the dead? Corpsely? _Dead_ silent? Oh! And how was dear old Sherl? Have anything interesting to say at all?" Jim teased.

"Please stop..."

"He didn't even notice did he. He just kept on working away, not taking time for little old Molly. But that's not unlike him, is it. When has he ever noticed you?"

"Stop. Please..."

"For a man who notices everything he sure can be blind in that department. Or.. Can he? What about that women on your slab?"

"Please Jim..."

"Just to think! He was more interested in a corpse then he was in you. That must feel awful, to know you'll always be second best..."

"Stop it."

"Even to the dead..."

"STOP IT!" Molly yelled, reeling her hand back to slap him, but he was faster. He caught her wrist mid flight and twisted it back. Molly yelped in pain.

"Please Molly. No violence from you."

In one quick jerk of his arm, Molly was pulled across the back seats and flew straight into his lap. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. Jim shoved his nose into her hair and inhaled sharply.

"I thought we agreed you would be good for Daddy. Don't be a disobedient little girl now Molly Mouse. Otherwise I won't be able to control myself, and then you can't hold me accountable for what I do to you."

She tried to wriggle free from his grasp but his hold on her only tightened. "Stop now, Molly, or I will have to put you over my knee."

Molly stilled and cried silently as Jim ran his fingers through her hair and over her body, holding her against him in a one-sided embrace. Quietly, and completely to herself, Molly muttered "Please find me Sherlock! Please..." under her breath, praying to God that he would know. And praying to God that he came before Jim had a chance to hurt her to badly.

...

 **Well, Jim is being bad, Molly is being sad, John is being mad, and Sherlock is being very confused. But what in the name of sanity has Jim got planned?**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	4. Cat and Mouse

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **New chapter. Previously, Jim was a tease and Sherlock was confused. Now back to the chaos.**

 **...**

Sherlock's mind was buzzing. Along side trying to figue out Irene's death and her phone, he now also had to think on his problem with Molly. The night after he saw her he had placed her jitters under nerves from being near him after what he had said to her, but now...after not having seen her in two weeks...it's not like he hasn't tried to see her! But whenever he went somewhere where she would usually be, her flat, the morgue, the lab, her favourite café, her favourite book shop, etc, she would never be there. He had asked her boss if she knew where Molly was, but she told him she didn't. And from what he could deduce, she was telling the truth.

John had been insufferable. Telling him that he had told Sherlock he thought something was wrong every time Sherlock went to him to relay his worries and theories on where she was and what had happened to her.

"I _told_ you Sherlock! I told you and you didn't listen."

"I know, I know." Sherlock muttered, pacing back and forth infront of the sofa in 221B. "You have informed me of this variable a dozen times."

Sherlock's pacing was beginning to make John's head spin, and uneasy feeling rising up his spin. "If you had listened to me before we might have know what's going on by-"

"I doesn't matter, John! Something...something just isn't right, John... I don't know...I don't like not knowing John."

"Okay, whats your best theory. She might have ran away because of embarrassment? Or she's gone to visit a family member who's suddenly fallen ill? Or-"

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up!"

John stood up with a huff and went into the kitchen to make tea, leaving Sherlock to pace, and stew in his mind for just a little bit longer before calling Lestrade.

Sherlock kept to his pacing the living room floor, waring a trail path into the carpet. Words upon words flew past him, attacking him from all sides. _Missing - Dead - Irene - Dead - Gone - Molly - Phone - Adler - Idiot - Missing - Molly - Taken - Password - Hurt - Molly - Dead - Injured - Molly - Taken - Molly - Molly - MOLLY -_ _ **MOLLY**_ _-_

Sherlock felt a searing pain shoot over his left temple, rushing to the back of his head. He yelped in pain. Before he knew it, or was able to stop it, he crumpled to his knees. John came barreling down the stairs and rushed to Sherlock's side. The man was shaking uncontrollably, it looked like he was resisting the urge to break something.

Whether there was something wrong with Molly or not, John knew one thing for sure, there was something most wrong with Sherlock.

...

Molly woke up the next morning in the four poster bed. Groggily she sat up and glanced around her. The pains of the previous day still fresh in her memory, clear as crystal glass. Alive in her mind was Sherlock's indifferent gaze swiping over her body, gathering information but not seeing the pain in her eyes or the purple rings that bruised her wrists and the slight cut on her throat. Like always, Sherlock didn't see her. He could deduce her life story within a minute and what she was currently thinking within half the time, but as he had said once before, he always missed something.

A light rapping came at her door. After her call entered Daniels. In his arms was a tray of food. Despite her previous determination to not except any offerings of piece from Jim or his men, she couldn't deny she was starving. Molly reached out and snatched the tray from him, shoving the omelet and bacon into her mouth and chewing ferociously.

"Remind me to never get between you and food." Daniels chuckled. Molly looked up at him rather sheepishly, swallowing the large mouthful and taking a quick sip of water.

"Sorry...I usually have better table manners." She apologized, causing another deep chuckle to erupt from his throat.

"Don't worry, Love, you're still better than most of the other guys here." He joked. Despite his intimidating size, Molly felt comfortable enough to let herself laugh at his attempt at humour. She wasn't saying he was a good guy, but he was the best guy there, showing her kindness and respecting her modesty. The previous night he had even scolded some of the other guards for cat calling her. Daniels may not have been a good man, but he was still a gentleman.

"The Boss wants go see you in his study in half an hour." Daniels said. He got up to leave, but before he did he gestured over his shoulder to the wardrobe. "Oh... and wear something pretty."

After Daniels left, Molly dragged herself out of bed and headed to the wardrobe. Opening the doors she was shocked to find a colourful array of dresses. There were long, elegant ball gowns, sweet summer dresses, dazzling party slips and robes of all different shape, size and colour. Picking out a light grey 50's style dress and a burgundy cardigan, she slipped out of her room and down the hall in search of the study.

"Molly Mouse?" Jim called from the room at the end of the corridor. Molly walked to the door and pushed it open, stepping inside. "I was wondering whether you would like to call Sherlock."

Molly looked at him in confusion. "W..what? Why do you want me to call him?"

"Oh, _I_ couldn't care less if you called him or not, I'm just asking if you would like to."

"What's the catch?" Molly asked, still suspicious.

"No catch. You can tell him anything you like. Anything. You. Like." He said handing her the phone.

Before Jim could change his ming Molly snatched the phone out of his hand and dialled in Sherlock's number, desperate for him to rescue her, even if he was was an ass while doing it.

She ran down the stairs with the phone in hand. She could hear Jim laughing behind her, but she didn't dare stop. If she was going to talk to Sherlock she had to do it alone, away from the soulless eyes of James Moriarty.

"Molly Mouse!" She heard Jim coo behind her. "You know how I love games. Are you really challenging me to a game of Cat and Mouse?" He laughed, but she didn't stop running, charging through the front door and out onto the grounds, trying to find somewhere to hide.

" _CAUSE IF YOU ARE,_ " He yelled from inside the house. " _I GET TO DESIDE YOUR PUNISHMENT. AND I PROMISE YOU THIS MOLLY MOUSE... you won't like it._ "

...

John rubbed soothing circles into Sherlock's back as he shuddered on the floor. He was about to get up and get him some water when Sherlock's phone rang. John picked it up and looked at the screen. Unknown number.

"Hello? This is Sherlock Holmes's phone, John Watson speaking."

" _...J...John_?" A scared voice whispered down the line.

"Who is this? " a small shocked sob rang out of the phone. "M..Molly?"

" _John! It's him, John... he has me. J-_ " the phone was ripped from his grasp by Sherlock, now standing with the phone plastered to the side of his head.

"Molly! Molly, what's wrong? Tell me!" He demanded.

" _It's Jim, Sherlock."_ She whispered. " _He was me and I don't know what to do..."_

Sherlock's heart stopped. "Which Jim?" He asked shakily.

" _Moriarty...it's Moriarty Sherlock...and he's standing right behind me!_ "

...

 **Well then... Sherlock and John now know that Moriarty has Molly. How will they proceed with this new information?**

 **A/N I hope you didn't find Sherlock to OCC in this Chapter. I based his reaction to something happening to Molly off of the coffin incident in The Final Problem. I don't know...It felt appropriate.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	5. End Call

**Hello, this is Queen speaking.**

 **This chapter is a bit late; I had to go to a lecture. I apologise, but I'm back now!**

 **Sorry this chapter is a bit short, but I promise you, there are longer chapters coming. In a few chapters time is when shite really hits the fan so hold tight, we will get there.**

 **This chapter does have a bit of blood and violence, but it also has Molly showing a little hint of badass that will be coming out more later on in the story.**

 **disclaimer : All the characters are mine and so is the moon...I'm kidding...**

 **...**

"Moriarty...and he's standing right behind me." Molly whispered into the phone. The brief relief she had felt hearing both John and Sherlock's comforting voices was shattered by a simple noise, but a noise that broke her heart and crushed any hope she had of escaping. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the twig snap behind her. She spun around, the phone dropping from her hand in her panic.

Jim stood, head cocked to the side, peering down at her. He had that smirk on his face, the smirk of someone who was just about to open up a present. The smirk itself reminded Molly of Sherlock when she brought him out an interesting body, but as soon as that smirk meet those eyes...it all changed. Sherlock's smirk was of glee, like a child, ready to rip through the rapping paper, but Jim's...Jim looked like he was ready to set fire to the gift to if it did not meet his expectations.

"Molly, so clumsy." He tsked as he bent down and picked up the phone. Jim pressed the screen and pocketed the device, before turning his attention back to the women infront of him. His gaze drifted lazily over her, noting that she was still bare foot. His smirk grew and he took a step closer. On impulse she took a step back. Jim took a bigger step forward and made a grab for her, but she was ready and determined.

Quickly, she shot her arm up, jamming the heel of her hand into his nose. Jim stumbled back slightly, shocked at her sudden outburst. In his momentary disarray Molly slipped out from around his and headed towards the trees on the opposite side of the hedges she had been hiding in. Sprinting at full speed, Molly ignored the pain of the roots, stones and twigs under her bare feet. Jim started to run after. Molly pushed herself harder, forcing her short legs to carry her further and faster, but Jim's long strides quickly canceled her small ones out. He jumped and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her to the ground with him.

Jim rolled on top of her and Molly was able to see, for the first time, the damage she had done to his nose. Streams of blood pored down his face and into his mouth. Leaning over her, the blood ran and dripped from the tip of his nose and onto Molly's forehead. Despite his weight, Molly was able to free her arms and lash out at him, using her nails tl dig into the skin on his cheeks. He reeled back a in pain and she wriggled out from under him, pulling herself up. This time she didn't run. She prepared herself to fight. Jim stood up, the look on his face freezing Molly to the spot. The smile on his face was amused, as if he found it utterly hilarious that she would try and fight him, but the look in his eyes was murderous. Molly pushed her back up against the tree behind her, and he chuckled.

"Very clumsy indeed." He raised his leg up and slammed his shoe down into her unprotected foot. A crunch was heard by both of them, and it wasn't a twig. Molly screamed out in pain, the yell blood curdling. "I told you I would win. It was foolish of you to run, Molly Mouse, because now I have to punish you. And thanks of my promise to you..." He stepped closer to her. Her eyes shone with tears of pain, the droplets rolling down her cheeks in streams. The sight of her crying for him brought a sickening joy to Jim's heart. He leaned in to her, wrapping his hand gently around her neck, slowly pressing her head back onto the tree in mock tenderness.

"...I have to make sure you don't like it."

...

"Molly! **Molly!** **Are you still there? MOLLY!** " Sherlock yelled into the phone. She didn't reply. He reeled in a breath to shout again when the line went dead. "Molly..." His voice barley came out as a whisper. The world seemed to spin around him, but that was nothing compared to the whirlwind raging through his mind, tearing his mind palace to shreds.

John stood back from him, concern plainly written all over his face, but it was fear that shone deep in his eyes. He stood watching his best friend break. And there was nothing he could do.

The phone slipped from Sherlock's hand and landed on the carpet. _Moriarty...Moriarty has Molly._ _ **My**_ _Molly!_ The noise in his head grew louder, thoughts flying at him at breakneck speed, solutions, conclusions, pros, cons, things that could save her, things that could kill her, things that could kill him. Without a second though he snatched the phone up of the floor and grabbed his coat of the rack.

"We're going to Scotland Yard!" Sherlock announced. John didn't bother protesting. He knew that Sherlock had a plan, whether that plan would get him, Sherlock, Molly or all of them killed he wasn't sure, but he knew that something had to be done, and whoever had Moly needed to be stopped. Sherlock raced down the stairs and out the front door, shouting a lightning fast goodbye to Mrs Hudson. John was out the door just in time to see Sherlock hail a cab out of thin air. Hastily climbing into the car behind him, John decided now was better than never.

"Sherlock what the hell is going on. Who has Molly!"

Sherlock looked straight ahead after giving the directions to the cabbie, his face clearly distraught. His eyes where wide. "Moriarty. Moriarty has Molly and I have no clue how to stop him."

...

 **Coming soon: GREG LESTRADE, badass Molly, Jim killing people, worried Sherlock and more of ever suffering John. Stay tuned.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	6. Simple Psychology

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This Chapter won't have any Molly and Moriarty in it so it's mainly going to focus on Sherlock and John. Don't worry, you'll get to see what happens to poor Molly in a bit, but she's fine for now.**

 **Thanks to ValeriaAnne, Always in my head, Sherlocked86 and Jen for giving me support throw this and urging me to go on xxx**

 **Disclaimer: no...still no, always no**

 **...**

Greg was happily eating a donut, on his lunch break, when Sherlock barged into his office. Now this was no unusual affair, if anything, it happened more often than not, but in all his years of working with the Consulting Detective he had never seen him look so distraught.

"Sherlock? Whats wrong, I'm on my lunch break!" Greg complained.

Sherlock swished his hand in the air, looking disinterested. "I don't care about your donut Lestrade, I care about stopping Moriarty."

"Sherlock, we don't know what Moriarty is doing or where he is, so it's hardly going to be possible for us to stop him now. Hi John."

"Greg."

"Quit your niceties! Lestrade, I know what he's doing I just need to now where he is." Sherlock looked almost lost standing in Greg's office, standing, looking around the room with such fear it was like a completely different person was in the room with them. "I...I need..." He took a deep breath, swallowing his pride. "I need your...help."

Greg's mouth flew open. Sherlock had never asked for help, it was always the other way around. "Of course Sherlock, what do you need. What is he doing?"

"It's less 'What is he doing' " John interrupted. "and more 'Who has he got'."

"Why? Who _has_ he got?"

Sherlock sucked in a shacking breath, preparing himself to say it, the discomfort and terror impossible to hide behind his usual facade of cold disinterest. John noticed this and said it for him.

"Molly. Dr Moly Hooper, Greg." John was starting to shake now too. "Oh God Greg! Moriarty has Molly!"

Greg stood up for his chair in disbelief. He charged forward and out into the main section. "DONOVAN!" He yelled. The bushy head of Sally Donovan popped up behind one of the stools

"Sir?" She said, rushing over. "Oh, hello John. Freak."

"No time for that Sally, get an APD on Dr Molly Hooper, and double the search for Moriarty."

"Okay...but why do them together?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and glared at her. _Must she always insist on being stupid, she's almost as ignorant as Anderson._ " Because Moriarty has taken Dr Hooper."

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. Before Sherlock was able to insult her she rushed of to talk to the officers she needed to and find Molly and Moriarty as fast as possible.

Greg turned back to Sherlock. "So how can we help you find him?"

Greg and John watched as he pulled out a phone from his pocket. The screen was slightly cracked, but other wise it was okay. He started tapping on the screen. Once he had pulled up what he needed, he turned the phone to Greg.

"A phone number. Sherlock-"

"It's Moriarty's phone number. Molly used his phone to call me. So this number has to be Moriarty's."

"How can you know Molly used his phone?"

"One, if it was her phone the contact on _my_ phone would have come up as 'Molly'. Two, she couldn't have used her phone because it's at Backer's Street. She dropped it in her struggle when she was first taken. And finally, Three, it doesn't matter if it is Moriarty's or not, the phone still belongs to someone who lives, works or resides where she is being kept."

"Oh..." Greg looked around the room, slightly unsure of himself. "Yah...yah, of course."

...

Three hours later and the analysis was still running. Sherlock had left at the start of hour two and sat himself at Barts, John following behind him. Greg had said that he would call them if anything came up, but it was unlikely to happen for a while. To try and keep his mind of Molly, Sherlock decided to spend his time trying to unlock The Woman's phone while he waited. _She was smart. She wanted it to be safe, so she sent it to me. But how to get into it... What could I do...I need to research some psychology._

John sat on the other side of the bench to him, his own laptop resting infront of him, the screen switched on to his blog. Every now and then he would steal a glance at his friend, watching as he read over something. Sherlock had pulled up a website on psychology, scanning over it at lightning speed.

 **'It takes a lot of psychic energy to keep tabs on big, internal events, energy that would otherwise be used for personal growth and fulfillment. But what happens when we habitually suppress smaller, internal events? Are there consequences to disregarding or guarding a faint but persistent voice in us that says that we are no good, ugly, stupid, or incompetent? Do we have to pay a price for denying when we feel unworthy or unlovable? Most of us hold little, painful secrets inside, secrets that are more feelings than thoughts. Some feel as if they have something wrong with them, lacking intelligence or basic goodness. Others feel as if the world has wronged them in some way. Everybody generates some negativity or socially unacceptable thoughts and feelings, at least every now and then. It is part of the human condition. What are we to do with these types of secrets? Dr. Carver Dylan did a study-'**

"Sherlock?" John's voice brought Sherlock out of his research and back to reality. Blinking three times he glanced up from his screen to look at John. "What you lookin' at?"

"Research."

"Of what?

"Psychology. Helps me think." Sherlock got up from his chair and started to walk around to John's side of the table, reaching for some chemicals behind him.

"What are you thinking about?" Sherlock suddenly spun around, pointing at John's screen with a thermometer.

"The counter on your blog is still stuck at one thousand eight hundred and ninety-five."

"Yeah, it's faulty. Can't seem to fix it."

Sherlock reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out Irene's phone. "Faulty...or you've been hacked and it's a message." He types in the numbers **1895** into the phone, his mind buzzed for a second when the phone stalled. But the enthusiasm soon died out when the phone gave a warning beep. **WRONG PASSCODE. 3 ATTEMPTS REMAINING.**

"Just faulty." Sherlock grimaced putting the phone back into his pocket. He walked back around the bench and plopped back down onto his seat. He held his head up and looked at John, waiting for a reply, _something_ that would spark a new query in his head.

"Right." John sighed. He shut his laptop and stood, walking to the door. "Right. Well, I'm going out for a bit. I need to clear my head. With Molly and all... I just need some coffee. Want any?"

Sherlock looked back down to his screen, the page filled with rhetorical questions. **What do we do when we feel that we are useless and unlovable? Is it ever a solution to lie about our feelings? Why do we all find it so hard to ask for help, but find it so easy to lie?** "No thank you John. I'm fine."

John was about to open the door to leave when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He picked it up and looked at the screen. **GREG.**

"Hey Greg. What's up?"

" _We've got him John! We've found Moriarty!_ "

...

 **Yay! They found the house!**

 **I want to try and keep this story twisted into canon so I moved one of the scenes from 221B over to Bart's cause I wanted Sherlock to have at least a little bit of comfort, and a reminder of Molly in this chapter :P**

 **I hope you don't mind the random bit of psychology I throw in there. Hopefully it isn't to confusing.**

 **Anyway, next chapter is going to be Molly and Moriarty.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	7. Held Captive

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **So, I'm just gonna...warn you now that this chapter, it gets kind of violent, but what did you expect from Moriarty's punishment. I mean, he was pretty insistent on letting Molly know that she was 'not going to like it.' so... please don't hate me!**

 **WARNING: Violence, dirty implications and bad language. If these things trigger you I suggest skipping this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

 **...**

Molly struggled to see through the sheen of tears, clouding her vision. The pain in her foot was immense. Her knowledge as a doctor allowed her to conclude that her foot was broken, or at least fractured. Jim forced her to walk infront of him back into the house, and despite her agonising screams, Jim paid her pain very little attention.

Once in the house her foot finally couldn't take anymore strain. Her ankle bent to an odd angle and she crumpled to the floor.

Jim kicked her hard in the side. "Up." He cooed. When she didn't move he grabbed fistful of hair and began to drag her across the floor to a door at the end of the grand hall. Although one of her feet was useless doesn't mean she could fight back with the other. She slammed her left foot down on the floor, trying to stop, and if not stop then slow down, Jim as he pulled her further towards the door. She reached her hands up and tried to pry his hands out of her hair, digging her fingernails into his wrists. When he wouldn't budge she pulled his hands towards her instead, to lessen the pain of being dragged by her hair.

Jim let go of her with one hand and opened the door. Molly was still thrashing around behind him. He lugged her over his shoulder like a sack of floor and started to descend the stairs towards the basement. She screamed and wriggled, slammed her hands into his back, kicked at his front with her left foot, anything to try and escape his clutches.

"Calm down now, Molly Mouse. Daddy told you what would happen if you disobeyed. And what did you go and do? Hum? " Molly felt a sharp sting across her backside. "You disobeyed. Now I have to punish you."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Jim turned on the light. All Molly could see was either Jim's back, or the stairwell they had just come from. Jim reached up and throw her oh his shoulder, and onto a mattress. It was at this point that Molly could finally see where she was. She was in a concrete floored cell with white tile panelling on the walls. Hooks hung from the ceiling and there were surgical trolleys and trays lining the walls. But what was on the trays was certainly not surgical. There were three wooden chairs sitting in the room and a wooden chest of draws resting at an uneven slant against the right wall. The mattress she was lying on was in the centre of the room.

Jim peered down at her with a terrifying hunger in his eyes. His dreaded smirk crept back over his lips and contorted his otherwise handsome face into that of a demon.

"Now then Miss Hooper," He said, circling the mattress. "What should I do with you first."

"Doctor." She spat at him.

"What did you say?" The smile on his face grew in amusement.

"It's _Doctor_ Hooper! If your going to torture me at least get my fucking name right."

Jim cackled into the silence in the cell. "Oh! So the mouse thinks she's a lion! How precious." He started towards her but then stopped, seemingly changing his mind, and turning towards one of the surgical trolleys. He reached down and picked up three things: a pair of leather handcuffs, a long rope and a thick, leather belt. "So, _Dr Hooper,_ tell me, what do you think I'm going to do with these." He held them out so she could see them closer.

"If you think your gonna tie me up then you better think again Jim, cause I'm not gonna let you." She bit out his name and glared at him with so much hatred it stirred something down in his trousers. Molly watched as the deadly hunger in his eyes grew.

Jim kneeled down on the mattress and leaned forward, leering over her. "And how are you going to stop me?" He whispered hotly. Molly gritted her teeth and shot her uninjured foot up into his groin. Crying out in pain he lifted his pelvis up and sat down on top of her legs, pressing his feet into her calves. Molly started to squirm underneath him. Seeing that he was to heavy to be pushed of her she decided to scream, praying that someone here had an inch of decency left in them. Jim clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling her cry for help.

Suddenly he pulled his hand away from her. "YOU BIT ME!" She started to thrash under him again, trying desperately to break his hold on her and make another attempt at escape. "Looks like the mouse has _teeth_ aswell as _nerve_... Let's see what use your teeth are when I have you hanging of my ceiling like the pretty little piece of meat you are." With his bleeding hand, Jim reached behind him and pulled forth the handcuffs. At seeing them her eyes widened.

"I WON'T LET YOU DO THIS! YOU **CAN'T DO THIS!** " Molly's yells grew louder as he tightened the latches, her screams tearing from her throat in agonizingly painful cries.

Jim got cocky and leaned forward so his face was inches from hers. "But I already have, sweetheart." His eyes where nearly black, his pupils blown wide, and his voice rigid and uneven, as if he was restraining himself from doing something else. Something that he wanted from her. She took her chance while he was seemingly distracted and slammed her head up and into his. Jim's previously busted nose started to bleed again and he recoiled back from her... but the damage was already done. The hand cuffs were on and too tight for her to them take them off herself.

Jim rose from the mattress and grabbed the rope. Molly, with bound wrists, tried to retreat away from him, but his advances were too quick, and she was too exhausted . He tied the rope to the handcuffs and the other end to one of the hooks hanging on the ceiling. The rope was long so she was barley moved by him tying her up.

Jim stepped away from her and headed for the stairs. Before he got there he turned around slowly. The blood from his nose dripping off his chin. The grin on his face broke into a horrific smile, the blood pooling in his mouth as he boar his teeth at her.

"Now then. Daddy has to go away now. Business. You understand." He cooed at her, his voice as smooth as honey over rose thorns. "And you... you will be staying here, in this cell..." His smile fell so suddenly Molly blinked and it was gone. What was left was a cruel frown. One that promised further hurt and damage to be brought upon her.

"... until you've learnt who _really_ owns you."

...

Molly was so very tired. Her eyes felt heavy and her limbs were riddled with fatigue, but she couldn't stop and rest now. Not until she was out of this disgusting pace and _far_ away from James Moriarty. She stood as close to the left corner of the room as she could and pulled down on her arms, as hard as she could, using her body weight to try and dislodge the rope. Yet again, the thing wouldn't budge. Her feet slipped on the cold concrete floor, her right foot still throbbing with pain.

The hook that the rope was attached to was less a hook and more a loop with a thin slip at the top that was just wide enough to slip the rope through. _I have five options._ Molly thought to herself.

 _A: Try and get the rope up and through the slip at the top of the hook._

 _B: Try and wear down the rope at the top enough so that it snaps._

 _C: Try and jump up and slip the rope through the top myself._

 _D: Try and reach one of the tools on the trays and cut the rope closer to me, freeing myself that way._

 _Or E: Try and get out of the handcuffs..._

Molly shook the rope again and canceled out one of them. She went over to the mattress and attempted to jump on it. _Nope, not gonna work_. She concluded and canceled out another. She tugged again on her handcuffs, inspecting the clasps. _If I could just find something to pick this lock with..._ she let out a laugh. _And then learnt how to pick a lock, and then mastered doing it with my_ _ **teeth**_ _..._ Three off the list. Two left.

 _B or D... B would mean that I had to lug around the rope with me, and I would eventually have to use D aswell for convenience, but with D I would have to use my feet to get the equipment, and at the moment one of my feet is ... this is anti-climatic._

Molly looked back up at the hook. The room was dark due to there only being one window at the top of the right wall, just above the chest of draws. Despite that, the late evening sun was still seeping through the window, giving the room just enough light for Molly to see the hook. She looked at the edges of the hook, questioning their sharpness. She then turned her head to the trays. Walking towards them she tested the distance between her and the trolleys. With a quick glance down at her right foot she stood on her left and pulled back on the rope to keep her steady. She reached her right foot out. Her big toe _just_ touched the trolley.

Molly's eyes widened in joy. Her breath caught in her throat as she held back her tears. She looked back towards the window, she probably had two or three more hours before she was plunged into darkness. She had to work quickly if she wanted to get free before nightfall. So quickly she'd work, but she would have to decide fast. Her eyes shot from the trolley, to the hook, and back to the trolley again. She nodded her head, her mind made up.

 _I guess we'll go with D then._

...

 **Right, so we all knew James Moriarty is a psychotic bastard, but I just wanted to show you how much of a problem he has in** _ **my**_ **mind... Let's just hope he doesn't do to much nasty to Molly.**

 **Tell me if you think I should up the rating on this story cause I'm thinking of going darker.**

 **Next chapter: Mycroft, Molly and her struggle against handcuffs, Sherlock and his struggle against law enforcement, and finally, John and his patients being tested thoroughly.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	8. Trolleys, Trays and Tools

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Sorry this one is late, I didn't have much time for writing today.**

 **I promised bad ass Molly and I will give it to you. We got Dr Hooper doing some Prison Break shit up in here! No Jim in this one sorry but hey, he'll be back with a vengeance.**

 **Disclaimer: not mine. Motffis.**

 **...**

Sherlock sat shotgun, Greg drove and Donovan and John sat in the back. Infront of them were two other cars filled Mycroft's men and behind were three cars filled with Lestrade's. Sherlock had pulled out all the stops. Homeless network, British government, New Scotland Yard, hell, he had even called in with Bart to get ready for the inevitable blood bath.

His hands trembled in his lap. _What if it's too late... What if I can't save her this time..._ As much as he tried to control his emotions he couldn't help but shake. He felt a hand on his shoulder. For a few moments he tried to ignore it, knowing John wouldn't mind. He was used to Sherlock being in his Mind Palace so would just brush it off as nothing. But when a voice called out to him he had to look back. The hand was in fact _not_ John's, but Donovan's.

 **"** Frea- ... Sherlock, you need to calm down. We'll get him, I promise." To his surprise, Donovan had spoken to him in a soft voice, almost comforting, pitying.

"It's not exactly Moriarty I'm that worried about..." A silence hung thick in the air. Sherlock could practically _feel_ the air being sucked up between teeth as everyone in the care reeled in a rigid breath. He knew he had struck a nerve in John and Greg, they were both ridiculously over protective of the small pathologist, but Donovan's reaction caught him by surprise. Her hand tightened on his shoulder and a small tear pricked at her eye. Normally Sherlock would have deduced her in a second, finding the reason behind her reaction in a flash, but he found himself unable to. It was at this point Sherlock realized how tired he was, emotionally and physically.

"She _will_ be okay, Sherlock. I swear! We _will_ get to her in time." She squeezed his shoulder once more before releasing him and sitting back in her seat. Sherlock regarded her for a moment, her own emotions confusing his. _**She**_ _isn't a friend of Molly's._ _ **She**_ _doesn't even really know her at all! Why is it okay for_ _ **her**_ _to cry and not_ _ **me**_ _! If it should be okay for any of us to shed a tear it should be_ _ **me**_ _!_ _ **I'm**_ _the one close to her!_ _ **I**_ _am her friend!_ _ **I'm**_ _the one who's in lo-_

His eyes snapped forward and he stared at the road ahead. _What was that?_ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He took in a breath and let it out slowly, letting it pace through his teeth. _Sentiment!_ His mind hissed at him, sounding surprisingly like Mycroft. _It's useless. Pointless. It will only slow you down. Wasn't it you who once said that sentiment was a chemical defect in the_ _ **losing**_ _side?_ Sherlock shook his head again, trying to ride himself of his scrutinizing subconscious.

A voice on the car's police radio kicked him violently out of his thoughts.

" _Detective Inspecter?_ "

"Yes? What is it?"

" _We're nearing on the house, how would you like us to proceed?_ "

Greg turned his head to Sherlock, questioning.

"All you now Sherlock."

Sherlock picked up the radio with a shaking hand, his mouth suddenly dry. He clicked his thumb over the transmitter and spoke. He told all that were listening his plan, and hopefully all that were listening were paying attention. Cause there was alot. _Hold tight Molly...I'm coming to get you._

...

Her right foot was in agony again. When Molly had first lifted it up to test her distance from the surgical trolleys in her cell the pain had died down to a minimum, but after an hour of strain, the pain had started to return with a fury. _I just need to snag my toe on the edge and pull it forward. That isn't so hard... so why can't I do it?_

"Come on!" She muttered under her breath. Her toe yet again snagged the edge but as she tried to pull the trolley closer her foot skidded and she lost her grip. Again. "Damn it!"

The sun was already starting to set. In her relief at a chance of escape she had lost track of time, and now Molly had barley an hour to cut herself free. Her toe slipped into place again and she pulled. The trolley started to move towards her. She let out a laugh of relief before slamming how mouth shut. _Stupid! What if someone heard me! God..._

She pulled trolley foreward until it was close enough for her to comfortably reach the trays. The tools on the trays ranged from saws to BDSM toys, all of which, disgustingly, looked regularly used. Deciding carefully and quickly, Molly picked up a saw and pushed the trolley back to where it had been. _If someone_ _ **does**_ _come in and catch me, I can hide this under the mattress and pretend like nothing ever happened._

The sun was still going down. Molly began to saw at her rope, which she found surprisingly difficult with bound wrists. Slowly but surely the rope snapped and she was free from the ceiling hook.

Next she turned the saw on her left handcuff. She worked away at the leather, praying that it would break. It did, but not before she sliced the saw across her wrist, releasing a surprised yelp of pain.

Instantly she regreted it. As soon as she had yelled she heard footsteps running towards her. In a panicked hurry Molly ran to the stairs and stood at one side of them, her chest heaving up and down with her agitated breaths. She heard the door click, and the footsteps started to descend. She held the saw close to her, gripping the handle firmly, ignoring the sering pain of both her foot and hand. The footsteps got closer. She peaked down to see a smart business shoe touch the floor of her cell.

She swung round at the intruder, saw in hand, but they were quicker. The intruder grabbed hold of her wrist and wrenched the saw from her hands. They kept hold of her wrists as she tried to struggle away, but their voice brought Molly to a halt.

"Molly! Shhh, it's okay, it's okay!"

Molly looked up into the intruder's face. Tall and lean. Dark, curly hair. Sharp cheekbones. Piercing blue eyes.

"Sherlock?"

...

 **Woo hoo! Sherlock finally has Molly safely in his hands, but will he be able to get out with her all in one piece?**

 **A/N I've always thought that Donovan isn't nice to Sherlock not because she doesn't like him, but because she** _ **does**_ **, and she doesn't want to get involved because she is too worried about getting hurt, whether by deduction or something else I will leave you to decide.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing.**


	9. The Touch of a Needle

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Alright, so this time on 'The Present' : Sherlock found Molly, Molly still has some pretty bad injuries and Moriarty is getting ready to rumble!**

 **...**

Everyone was in place. No one had attacked yet, but everyone was ready, waiting. Sherlock crept around the side of the house, knowing that if he was seen he would be shot dead in a second.

As he ran, Sherlock's mind went back to their talk in the car. Reliving the plan and trying to tell if everyone had understood and were properly carring out the plan. For what they had to do, against the man Moriarty was, everything _had_ to perfect.

 _Sherlock picked up the radio and told them the plan._

 _"Alpha, we are going to infiltrate. I will go in and get Dr Hooper. You scout the house and find Moriarty._ _ **Capture, not kill**_ _. Beta, you will scout the back of the house. Gamma, you will scout the front. You will both be making sure none of these bastards escape. Delta, Epsilon and Zeta, you three will be ready to raid the house at_ _ **any**_ _notice given by Alpha. Eta, you stay round with the cars to make sure that none of the potential escapees make it out of our grasp. Delta, you will position yourselves behind Beta. Epsilon and Zeta, you do the same but with Gamma. Has every one got that?"_

 _"_ Yes, sir." _They all replied._

 _They arrived and got into position. They were ready to act._

No guards had been placed at the door. Despite his logical side telling him to stop, telling him it was a trap, his emotional side was so caught up in saving Molly he couldn't help but continue onwards, his legs taking him further despite his minds protests.

The door opened easily. The second sign that something was seriously wrong. He slipped through and into the main hall. Sherlock's eyes scanned over his surroundings , calculating each and every possible move. That's when he heard it. The yelp of pain.

His eyes shot up towards the door at the other end of the hall, behind the stairs. Before his logical side could tell him not to, Sherlock was running. Running towards the door. The door gave away easily and he charged down the stairs, knowing that Molly was in pain and needed him. But once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he stopped.

There, on the wall, was a large projection of Molly, hiding against a wall, next to a stair case much like the one he had just run down. The room she was in had blood on the floor, the room was dark with only a slither of late evening light pouring into the cell. There she stood, dishevelled and breathing heavy, a small, thin saw clutched in her hands. Suddenly the screen changed. Now, instead of Molly, scared and broken on the screen, was Moriarty, smiling mockingly.

"Thank you Sherlock! But our princess is in another castle."

And with that the screen cut out, and Sherlock was plunged into darkness.

...

"Sherlock?"

But it wasn't Sherlock. The man infront of her was bulkier. His dark hair wasn't curly and his eyes were more grey than blue. His cheekbones weren't sharp, the shadows from the late evening light just made them seem that way. This man wasn't Sherlock, and he did _not_ care that his hand was now covered in her blood.

"No sweetheart, I'm sorry," His other hand shot up and Molly felt a sharp sting on her neck. A needle. "But _Sherlock..._ is _not_ coming to get you. Infact, I'm not even sure he cares."

Molly tried to fight against him, dropping the saw and trying to rench herself out of his steely grip. Her head started to spin. The world was coming down around her. Not-Sherlock laughed at her from the stairs as she stumbled and fell, her back hitting the concret floor hard.

"The boss doesn't want you doing any of that shit again, understand?" She tried to roll away from him, but his foot caught in her ribs, sending her flying back onto the mattress. " _ **Understand?**_ " She nodded.

The doctor inside her was trying to think of what drug had just been injected into her sistem based off of her symptoms. _Light headed, nausea, heart beat decrease. A seditive obviously, but what kind?_ Her brain started to fog over as she watched Not-Sherlock leave her cell and climb the stairs, disappearing out of sight.

As he left she felt the room get colder, her vision started to cloud over. _Please Sherlock! I can't keep this up for much longer..._ And the world went dark, her body falling limp against the mattress.

...

Sorry, its short, I know. Structure and all. Tomorrow will be better.

Will Sherlock find Molly? What will Moriarty do do screw up Sherlock's nead more? What was Molly drugged with?

A/N I'm wondering if I should continue the story after the rescue on this or do it as a seperate story as a sequel. Tell me what you think I should do.

Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	10. The Disadvantage of Blood Loss

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **I know I've just kind of disappeared for a few days, but I'm sorry. I've just had very little time to write. That along with trying to get the story into coherent sentences was also an added set back. Thank you for holding on for me.**

 **I'm sorry for the last chapter, I really am but I wanted to keep things interesting, you know? So, this chapter might be a bit hard to follow, so bare with me and we will be okay!**

 **Disclaimer: still not mine. 'Sherlock' belongs to Mottfis.**

 **...**

When Molly woke up her head was still spinning. Arms stretched out behind her, she felt the wetness of the mattress next to her. The light from the window showed her it was well into day time - _I wonder how long I've been asleep for_ \- and was enough for her to see around the cell with ease. She glanced down at the wet patch. Blood. The wet patch was blood. Her blood. The slice on her wrist must have been much bigger and deeper than she had first realized.

Molly tried to get up and find something to cover her wrist with, but was overwhelmed with a large dizzy spell that forced her back down onto the mattress. Blood loss. Slowly she tried again. She was half way through standing, her right foot still in a grand straight of agony, when the door at the top of the stairs clicked open.

"Molly Mouse?" The voice of James Moriarty cooed from above her. "Sweetheart?" He walked slowly down the steps, as if nothing could have bothered him at all. Molly's mind was fuzzy. Once he had reached the bottom of the stairs she was ready to pass out again, but she wasn't going to let him win that easily.

Jim kneeled down on the mattress over the top of her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rap of bandages. He grabbed Molly's wrist and started to rap the bandage over her wound. She tried to struggle away from him but it was useless, he was to strong, and her blood loss was making her weak.

Molly gritted her teeth. She had to do something! Suddenly, she felt the weirdest case of deja vous. She gingerly raised her head up yo look at Jim. _Leaning over me, hands at my wrist. Jim... Don't make the same mistake twice._ Molly picked up all the strength she had left and shot her uninjured foot up into his groin. Crying out in pain he lifted his pelvis up and sat down on top of her legs, pressing his feet into her calves. He looked quite confused, almost...hurt. Molly started to squirm underneath him. Seeing that he was to heavy to be pushed of her she decided to scream, praying that someone here had an inch of decency left in them, but she knew they didn't. So instead she cried out for Sherlock. Screaming for him to find her. Jim clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling her cry for help.

Suddenly he pulled his hand away from her. "YOU BIT ME!" She started to thrash under him again, trying desperately to break his hold on her and make another attempt at escape. "YOU BIT ME, AGAIN!" He stood up and got off of her. Molly tried yo get up but found she had used all her energy fighting of Jim in vain. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he looked down at the trays, searching for something.

"Here we go!" He whispered in delight, stroking the handle of a stick like object. The look on his face suggested to Molly that the object brought back ' _fond_ ' memories. He turned back round to Molly, holding the stick out infront of him, allowing her to get a better look. On one end was a flattish panel, and on the other was a small, sharp knife. "We're gonna have some fun with this."

...

Daniels stood out side the basement door, waiting for Mr Moriarty to come back out. He tried to block out the sounds of the poor girl's screams. Over the past few days he had taken a certain liking to Molly. She was sweet, kind, respectful and caring, while at the same time being cunning and willing to pit up a fight if necessary. To hear such a sweet and innocent girl screaming out in such painful cries... well, needless to say, it broke Daniels' little black heart.

Even though he knew that it wouldn't be safe for either his wife or him, he did hope that Mr Holmes and the rest of Scotland Yard found where they were. For the girl's sake. An idea struck his head. _If they can get Molly out, surely they can get Anna out! He may kill me but I will not let that bastard hurt my girl, or any girl ever again._ He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.

Moriarty had sent half of his men out to a different house a few miles out to ' _Throw Sherly of our sent._ ' So Daniels was alone in the hall. He was completely free to call them...he had to.

He had memorized the number a few weeks back when he had tried to leave the network and Moriarty had revealed that he had taken Anna. Despite it being no use to him then, Daniels kept hold of that number, trying to remember it when he felt all hope was lost. And it looked like now was his chance to use it.

The phone rang...and rang again...and again...and-

" _Sherlock Holmes. What do you want?_ "

"Uh...yes- No, wait, uh..." He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "My name is Sam Daniels. I work for James Moriarty. He has my wife, Anna, held upstairs in the attic and your friend in the basement. And this..." He paused and stuck his phone out towards the door, allowing Molly's screams to travel down the wire. "...is what Jim is doing to your friend right now. I want him to stop so I will tell you where we are... If you promise to help me save my wife."

" _I'm pretty sure, Mr Daniels, that we will be able to help each other very nicely._ "

...

 **Alright, so, the last chapter is coming up in a few so hold onto your hats. The law verses the criminals. And poor Molly... what was Jim doing to her? Find out next time.**

 **Thank you for reading and reviewing.**


	11. The Detective VS The Criminal

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **Alright, so this time on 'The Present' : Sherlock found Molly, Molly still has some pretty bad injuries and Moriarty is getting ready to rumble!**

 **...**

Molly had passed out after a few hours. Her face was completely saw, cuts ran along her cheekbones and jaw. Her collarbones and arms were equally treated. She had been slapped across the face, chest, stomach and legs with the wooden panel more times than she could count. Before Jim had left he had taken of the binding around her wrist, jerking it violently away from the wound, dislodging the scab and starting the flow of blood again, only this time it was thankfully slower.

She heard the top of the stairs creak. Molly made to get up but knew she couldn't. The blood loss was to great. She was going to die there at the hands of Moriarty. Bleeding to death on a broken mattress in a basement she didn't even know where.

A figure stooped infront of her. Tall, dark, lean. Thats all she could tell. She could hear the faintest whisper of a deep voice.

"Molly!" It called. She looked up at the figures face...and stopped. They looked familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it...

"Sherlock?"

Molly studied his face. The dying sun cast golden shadows over his pale skin. His eyes glowed like cats eyes, shining down at her with such relief that she questioned if it was Sherlock at all.

"Is...Is it really you?"

"Molly. We don't have much time. In about three minutes Lestrade's men are going to raid the place in search of Moriarty, and I don't want you in the middle of that."

He grabbed her wrist and she yelped. Sherlock glanced back at her and saw the deep red gash in her skin, blood trickling down her forearm. He looked up from her arm and into her face, seeing the gashes and scrapes, the bits of dirt caught in her cuts. The light in the room was low but it was bright enough that she could see the flash of worry and panic that passed over Sherlock's face.

"Did...Did _he_ do this to you?" He growled.

Molly through up both her hands, the hand cuffs still dangling from her right wrist. "NO! No, it was me! See?" She gestured to the hand cuffs, begging his eyes to follow. "I had to cut them off, I just got a little carried away..."

"What about your face? And your foot?" He gestured down to how she was cradling her right foot on top of her left leg.

"Ye-yes...t-that was h-him..." Molly's lip started to tremble and she left herself getting weaker. She had held it all in for so long, pretending to be brave, for her own sake. But now in Sherlock's arms, she was scared...no, not scared. "Sherlock...I'm terrified!"

"It's okay, you're fine now. I've got you." He pulled her up and onto her feet, leaning her foreward into his arms. She hissed when she put pressure on her foot. Molly glanced up at him, hoping he hadn't notice, but of course he noticed, he was Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes.

Sherlock looked down and looked again at how she was keeping her weight of her right foot. In the low light he couldn't see how badly it was damaged but knew that she wouldn't be able to run very fast let alone walk. Before Molly had any time to react, Sherlock lifted her up, placing one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders. Molly gripped his neck to steady herself.

"You okay with this?" Sherlock asked her, concern written plainly across his face.

"Completely!"

And then Sherlock was running. Sprinting up the steps and across the hall. Once he was out of the front door her told Molly to reach in his jacket pocket. She picked out the walky talky thing and held it to the side of Sherlock's face.

"I've got Dr Hooper! Have you got Mrs Daniels?"

" _Yes sir. We have her safe by the cars, are you-_ "

"We're out, start phase 3."

They were half way down the drive when they heard an enraged roar bellow out from the house. Sherlock stopped, and they both turned their heads. Three guards had started chasing them down the path. Behind them was Jim, smiling creepily at them, standing on the steps leading to the house.

Sherlock took off again, gripping Molly tighter to his body. Molly could hear shouts and guns firing in the background. She could hear yells and cries. But they were all so faint, as if someone had left the television on downstairs. Sherlock's raging heart beat pounded in her ears, or was that her heart beat, her blood running in her veins. She could hear ragid breathing and tiny sobs, her of him she wasn't sure. In the distance she could hear Greg and John calling to Sherlock, along side yells from voices that would haunt her sleep forever, urging each other onward, telling each other that they were getting away.

Sherlock cried out suddenly and collapsed to the floor. As he fell he turned his body and through Molly forward towards where she had heard Greg. With heavy eyes she looked up to Sherlock. He was cradling his foot. He had been shot in the back of his calf. Molly tried to crawl to him but a pair of hands came down around her waist and pulled her up and into someones arms. She tried to wriggle free, twisting and turning, trying to dislodge herself from the person's grip.

"Shhh... it's okay Molls, it's me! Its just John." John whispered in her ear. She could only vaguely hear it. She turned her head to look at him. He looked terrified. Staring up into his face, the world grew dark around her and she collapsed in his arms.

...

The pain in Sherlock's leg was immense, but he had to make sure that Molly got out of there. He looked up to see John standing with her in his arms, out cold.

" **JOHN! GO! GET HER OUT OF HERE!** " Sherlock yelled to him.

" **SHERLOCK, I WILL** _ **NOT**_ **LEAVE HERE WITHOUT YOU!** "

" **YOU HAVE TO! YOU HAVE TO GET HER OUT OF HERE!** " Despite Sherlock's insisting, John still hesitated. " **GO!** "

He watched for a moment while John pulled Molly tighter in his arms and ran towards the cars at the front. After he was sure they where far enough away, he picked himself of the floor and ran into the surrounding wood.

The blood from his leg was spilling down his calf and onto the woodland floor. The pain turning into a burning hot ache as he ran. Sherlock knew he wouldn't get far, but if it was enough to buy them some time to get Molly out of Moriarty's reach then it was good enough for him.

Sherlock was caught up in thought and tripped over an upturned root, hitting the ground with a grunt. In the distance he could here Moriarty's voice.

"Alright boys, that's enough. Daddy wants to talk to our guest alone."

Sherlock tried to pull himself up from the ground but a foot came down on his back, hard. "Lie still or Mr Moriarty won't be as nice as you'd want him to be." Sherlock obliged through gritted teeth as he listened to the achingly slow approach of his greatest advisory.

"Johnson. I said _alone_. " The foot came of Sherlock's back and he spun himself to meet him. "Go on then Sherlock. Do stand up."

He slowly stood, straightening his jacket and brushing the leaves and dirt from his suit. He tried to look as casual as he could but he was sure that Moriarty could see the pure hatred (and slight adoration) in his eyes.

"Moriarty." He said politely as he watch 'Johnson' walk away out of the corner of his eye. "What are you waiting for? I'm finally here, so do what you must. But do know that I will try to stop you."

"Oh Sherlock! I really thought you would have seen the bigger picture by now!"

Sherlock looked around slightly, baffled by Moriarty's 'Not Trying To Kill Me'ness. "Bigger picture?"

"I took Molly to show you what you could be losing!" Moriarty stepped closer, holding his hands out in childish joy. "You neglecting her because you don't understand you feelings. You insulting her at that Christmas party because you were jealous of her having a _new boyfriend_ that she's _serious about_... At first I thought that you didn't like her at all, that it was just her, but then again, I was just trying to see you face to face at the time. But after I got into your webcams and security cameras, it was plan is day... 'Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.' How naive can you be?"

"I don't have feelings for Molly. She is an acquaintence. At most a friend." Sherlock interrupted him, trying to defend himself.

"Oh...then if you don't I'll take her away again. I have always had a thing for the completely innocent. Did you know that she didn't even let me sleep with her when we were ' _dating_ '. I should have tapped that thing when I had the cha-"

Sherlock rushed forward, grabbed Moriarty by the collar and shoved him against a tree. "Oh, Sherlock!" He laughed. "I bet I could make her scream. Do you think she's loud in bed? I bet she would be. All, that mousy exterior crumbling away as I pound it out of her. I-"

" **ONE** MORE Word, and I snap your neck-"

"So you do love her! Well if your not going to say it to her, I guess its a race to the finish then." Moriarty reeled his head back and slammed it into Sherlock's. He let go and stumbled away.

"This won't be the last you see of me Sherlock. Just because I steered he towards you and made her crumple into your arms, doesn't mean it won't be just as easy to turn her around and have her crumple into mine." He started to walk away, but when Sherlock tried to charge him again, he pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at him. "I'll see you at the finish line Sherlock. And I assure you, I _will_ have the grand prize." With that Moriarty turned and disappeared into the wood, leaving Sherlock lost and bleeding, wondering if he can actually win this time.

...

Sherlock limped over to the cars. John thought he looked like some real life action hero, walking away from a burning building, a whole bunch of armed military and police force behind him, limping back, injured and bruised, to a damsel in distress.

He ran over to Sherlock to help him with his leg, only to get brushed of with a quick and simple. "I'm fine, it's only a gunshot wound, I've had loads of them. Where's Molly?" _Yep._ John thought to himself. _Real life action hero._

"She's in the ambulance. She passed out due to blood loss. The meds are working on her right now." When he saw the concerned look on Sherlock's face he felt two things, shock and... pity. "She'll be okay, Sherlock. It's just a pretty bad bang to the head and a deep cut on her wrist. The shock isn't doing her any favours but as long as we are there for her she will make a full recove-"

"Moriarty threatened to take her away again..." Sherlock said, barley above a whisper. "He said he would take her and... have his way with her. He taunted me about how he would... make her scream and... I don't know what happened John... I just... I just felt so _angry_...Like I wanted to rip his head off for even suggesting he do that to her. What's wrong with me John?" Sherlock stopped and turned to him. He sounded so lost and confused. John's head raced. His best friend, the one that never felt emotion, was asking him to explain jealousy... How could he?

"This needs a longer talk, back at Baker's Street. This isn't something I can explain without some Dutch Courage."

"Dutch Courage?"

"Alcohol, Sherlock... And we're gonna need lost of it after this."

Sherlock insisted on riding in the ambulance with Molly as she was taken to Bart's, so John had time to think about what Sherlock had told him, on the way back home. _How on earth am I going to explain emotions to him. If I try he will dismiss it as sentiment and mock me for saying he could feel that way, but if I try to explain it any other way I won't know what to do at all. Is this what having kids is like?_

John sat quietly in the back of the car on the way back to London. His thoughts ranged from Sherlock to Moriarty to the nice cup of tea he would have when he got home. But no matter where his mind took him, all things led back to one thought. _At least Molly is safe now...Right?_

 **...**

 **Okay, one more to go. The next chapter is going to be like an epilogue and also the start of the sequel so, look out for it. It is called 'Broken Gifts' and is what happens next. Now that Molly is safe Sherlock can go back to normal, solving cases, deducing things and experiments... right? (Shameless self-premonition)**

 **Thank you for all you support with this story, it means so much to me.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing**


	12. Back to Normal

**Hello, this is the Queen speaking.**

 **This is just and epilogue but it holds more hints to the sequel and sets the base for that story. Have fun and look out for it when it comes.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine**

 **...**

Safe. She was safe. That's what they told her. But why did it still feel like Jim was going to come bursting through her doors and take her away again. Steal her from her warm bed and lock her in that freezing cell again.

Molly tried to carry on with her life, behaving as normal, but she couldn't help feeling like there was something she was missing. Like there was a part of her that she had left behind at that house. As much as John told her that 'Moriarty didn't win this time.' she couldn't help but feel that, for her, he had.

Sherlock had been distant towards her since the rescue. John had told her about how Sherlock reacted to her being kidnapped. Molly had listened politely but hadn't believed a word. Sherlock wasn't like that. He just wouldn't react that way. Especially with her.

Sherlock and John had both insisted she stay at Backer's St untill her foot healed. Sherlock had allowed her to sleep in his bed, saying that he rarely sleeps and when he needs to he can sleep on the sofa. Although she was glad for the company she always felt a certain coldness with Sherlock. One night she had left her (Sherlock's) bed and went to the kitchen to get a drink when she overheard their conversation.

"I'm fine John. Now that Molly is safe I can focus my attention on more important things."

"What _important things_ Sherlock? The Woman? She's dead!"

"Yes but her phone still has information on it!"

"Molly is still healing. She needs us!"

"Oh, then you baby her. I have more serious matters to attend you rather then look after _Molly!_ "

Molly couldn't run back to her room fast enough. Sherlock's words cut deeper than any knife of Jim's ever did. But she wasn't going to let him see her cry. Not now. Not ever again. Two months later and she was able to convince them her foot was good enough to run from her flat to theirs if necessary, and after a few painstakingly cutting remarks from Sherlock, she was back at home.

...

Sherlock was tired. So very tired. After saving Molly he thought he would be able to focus on the Irene Adler problem, every time he tried to think about the phone his mind slipped back to the phone call with Molly telling him that Moriarty had her. Every time he tried to think of the password he was stopped by thoughts of Moriarty's hands on her. The memory of her beaten and bloody form hung in every room of his mind palace. Always there.

Sherlock knew he shouldn't lash out her but every time she was near he lashed out. One night in particular came to mind. John was trying to ' _explain_ ' his emotions to him. Sherlock knew that Molly had come out of his room, possibly to talk to them, probably to get something from the kitchen. John kept telling him that he needed to be there for her, but Sherlock didn't want to do that. He didn't want to care, to want her to be safe. He wanted her to be away from him and not distracting him from his work. So he started shouting. He yelled and told John (and inadvertently, Molly) that she wasn't worth his time.

Ever since then Molly won't open up to him about how she felt. Part of him was glad for that, but another part of him kept felling loss every time he would deduce that she was actually sad, or angry, or hurt, or terrified, and wouldn't tell him, hiding behind a smile he would usually find comfort in. It was strange, all he had wanted before was for her to leave him alone, then she had been taken and he wanted nothing but her back by his side, then he had her ba k and her sweet smell and sunny smiles and love had suffocated him, the she was with him but not there... and it was complete torture.

Sherlock sat in the lab at Barts, x-raying The Woman's phone. Molly came in but he didn't move. His heart beat started to increase as soon as he saw her come in but with her distancing herself so much so she wouldn't get hurt was a new found pain to him.

His computer pinged and he looked to see the four black devises inside of the phone.

"Is that a phone?" Molly peered over his shoulder, her closeness clouding his mind.

He had to push her away, if not to save himself, then save her. To make Moriarty think that he really _didn't_ care. "It's a camera phone."

"And you're X-raying it?" He could feel the sadness radiating off of her.

"Yes, I am."

"Whose phone is it?"

"A woman's."

"Your girlfriend?" _Sadness._ It was sadness now.

He needed to comfort her, prove her wrong, maybe if he _did_ get close to her he could protect her from Moriarty. "You think she's my girlfriend because I'm X-raying her possessions?"

Molly laughed nervously. _Damn! Maybe I should just let her keep her distance..._ "Well, we all do silly things."

"Yes." Suddenly inspiration struck him. _Oh Irene. You wouldn't._ "They _do,_ don't they? _Very_ silly."

Molly looked at him, confused, as he got to his feet, picking up the phone and turning it on. "She sent this to my address, and she loves to play games."

"She does?"

Sherlock typed in the '221B' into the phone. The phone beeped warningly. WRONG PASSCODE. 2 ATTEMPTS REMAINING. Sherlock sat back down in his seat, and through the phone onto the table. A small hand slipped onto his shoulder. It was illogical, but it made him feel calmer. It shouldn't. He looked up to see Molly, looking pityingly down at him.

"It's okay, you'll solve it."

 _Push her away. Protect her._ "I know I'll solve it," Sherlock snapped. "And you standing around and interrupting me is not going to help. So if you would take your hand of me I can get back to work."

The hand jerked away from him, the calm leaving to. "I had no idea my touch was so unwelcome." _Hurt_. He had hurt her, and it hurt him. His chest felt tighter, like a hand had reached in and was squeezing his heart. "Trust me, ot won't happen again." And with that Molly left, slamming the door to the lab behind her.

 **...**

 **That's it! The 'last' chapter.** _ **I'm sorry for how I left it, really! I am! But Sherlock has to redeem himself.**_ **And I don't want Molly just falling over and letting Sherlock just have her so easily, after all the shite she's gone through she needs to be worked for. Look** **out for the sequel, which is called 'Broken Gifts' and is what happens next. Now that Molly is safe Sherlock can go back to normal, solving cases, deducing things and experiments... right?**

 **Thank you for all you support with this story, it means so much to me.**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing**


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